A Walk in the Wallowas

by Claire Tenscher

Two weeks before the devastating fires gripped Oregon, I took a three-night backpacking trip in the Wallowas. With smoke levels the way they are now, I’m thankful that I got a wonderful end-ofsummer trip.

Departing the Idaho Panhandle on a the end of Highway 82. Incidentally, no this wide stream on a lovely log bridge beautiful Friday morning, I headed south Northwest Forest Pass is required here, and with a handrail. The trail then climbs a towards Joseph. The road swings through there is a nice day use area with restrooms. dramatic 2,000 feet, but that’s spread over the forests into golden fields of ripe wheat It seemed busy to me, but to a fellow hiker, five miles, thanks to a serious commitment and down across the deep canyons of the used to crowds on the Pacfic Crest and to switchbacks. Several groups of what I Snake River. Many of these roads are part of John Muir Trail, this was quiet. About 90 assumed must be day hikers descended the Nez Perce historic trail, recounting the percent of the 75 parking slips were filled past me with tiny school backpacks, battles and broken treaties that led to the at 3 p.m. on a Friday. When I departed on making me conscious of my large load. Nez Perce being forced out of their lands. Monday only about 30 percent were filled. Ice Falls is visible from a distance and The tribe has a presence in the Wallowas, Maps show a loop beginning up one with a little maneuvering several close including a fascinating hydropower station fork of the Wallowa River and returning views are possible. A white cataract spills on the wilderness boundary; a sign nearby down another. My goal for the first night through dark green trees. The waterfall poignantly reminds hikers that everywhere was Ice Lake; it seemed like a reasonable mostly clings to a rock face, but in several a human foot can tread, it is likely one distance, but I hadn’t done much research sections throws itself bodily into thin air. As already has. beyond downloading the area’s GPS info. I reached the upper falls, the sun dropped

The first view of the Wallowa My late afternoon start meant I had the below the mountains and several lovely Mountains stuns, as does the namesake hike largely to myself. The trail surface is campsites tempted me. The air cooled but I lake shortly after. Two gilded moraines covered in a deep dust from heavy equine pressed on, hoping that there would still be encircle the sapphire lake. The forested use. For the first two and a half miles it light above. hills rise rapidly into mountains, still rises gradually through dense, healthy The trail suddenly topped the ridge and dotted with snow in late August. I chose forest, following the West Fork. At the Ice Ice Lake became visible. Tents dotted the to start from the Little Alps Trailhead, at Lake Junction, the trail splits and crosses shore. Reddish-pink rays of light still graced half the water. I jumped in while the rocks

Ice Lake with alpenglow as the sun sets behind The Matterhorn, the author camped on the rise just across the outlet stream from where this photo was taken. Photo by Claire Tenscher.

Wallowas, continued from previous page

still retained the day’s warmth and ate a cold sandwich for dinner. Ready to relax, I set up my bivy sack near the main trail and a couple of other campsites. Some kind neighbors shared that there were private sites on a hidden peninsula if that was preferable, but in the end, I was glad for the company and chatted into the evening with a solo hiker from Portland. We talked about cross-country hikes and beautiful views from the top of the Matterhorn and the rumored difficulty of Polaris Pass, along my planned route. The moon rose bright and nearly full, making sleep difficult and dulling the stars until the wee hours.

The next morning I woke early and made the decision to summit the Matterhorn before continuing on. This hike was essentially the only path I encountered in the Eagle Cap Wilderness without switchbacks. It climbs a punishing 2,000 feet in slightly over a mile. At times difficult to follow and rocky, the hiker who carries on is rewarded by extensive views. The hike begins in a hillside of vibrant wildflowers hugging a tumbling stream. As you gain elevation, steep shale hillsides draw attention, then a glacier topped with a sharp blue pool appears. Ice Lake is always visible, revealing itself as the trail gains elevation. Finally at the summit, a 360-degree view features the jagged peaks surrounding Eagle Cap, and several lakes thousands of feet below whose names are unknown to me.

I had the summit to myself, a benefit of being the first person up, but saw about a dozen people slowly climbing the ridges below me. On the way down, I nearly lost the trail in a maze of ungoverned cairns and goat paths. The descent back to the West Fork was punishing, especially knowing I’d have to regain much of the elevation to reach my evening camp.

I developed serious blisters as the day wore on but was unwilling to stop, lest I stall completely. Finally, running low on water, I pulled over, soaked my feet, and applied my favorite blister remedy: lanolin on an oval pad of wool, attached to the feet with athletic tape. The stream where I rested bordered a joyful meadow with clumps of mid-sized evergreens; several groups made this their basecamp because the trail splits and forms a loop. I had my heart set on an evening swim in the Lake Basin so I pressed on. The trail fords several deep streams and had I not taped my feet I would have removed my shoes to cross. Instead, I took the more risky log crossings that were available.

As I was trying to convince my feet that we were nearly there, two cheerful women equipped with fishing rods came into sight. Some instinct told me they would give good advice on where a tired hiker could find a comfortable campsite. ‘Choose Horseshoe, it has the best backdrop’ and ‘you’re nearly there’ was all the convincing I needed. They recommended an empty campsite where the trail hits the lake. They also warned me that Frazier Lake, a potential camp spot for the following night, was underwhelming, and reiterated what I’d heard several times by now: Polaris Pass looked like a monster. Horseshoe Lake is clear blue, with a rocky tree-lined shore, and a classic peak anchoring the view. When I arrived there was still enough sunlight to swim the length of the lake, warm granite to dry my

Glacier Lake sits on a small plateau, the trail to Frazier Lake kisses the shore then continues down the valley to the left. Photo by Claire Tenscher.

clothes, and flat spots for my stove. From the water I could see what looked like Aneroid Mountain, far across the valley I hiked up, a completely different geology with its loose small rocks. Pouring over my maps, I analyzed the route decision I needed to make: either a mellow day making a lollipop loop along the West Fork, or an extreme day heading over Polaris. With no final decision I settled into my bag as the darkness fell.

The next morning dawned frosty and cold. I decided to make my route choice at the junction, taped my feet, and set off. The Lake Basin is forested with some marshy lily-clad ponds and several large lakes. Douglas and Moccasin Lakes are similar in character to Horseshoe and both have beautiful backdrops of their own. There are campsites throughout to suit every style. A side trail towards Razz Lake tempted, but ultimately failed to lure me.

The trail winds around Eagle Cap, lined with late season snow and glaciers, and every angle is a different stunning view. At this elevation, spring flowers long done blooming in Portland were in full raiment: paintbrush, mints, a thousand varieties of purple flowers. I took a short detour for the view across Mirror Lake before beginning the ascent over Glacier Pass.

Glacier Pass is a steady climb, following a stream for about half the distance before switch-backing up a small rocky valley. From the pass the eponymous lake is visible below, several rocky islands splashed across it and snow kissing the uphill shore. A smaller lake hides above it in the shadow of Eagle Cap.

A cold wind blew steadily as I ate lunch, and discouraged me from a hoped-for swim. Instead I hustled out of the basin, following a merry stream as it descended to Frazier Lake. The trail was rocky and lost elevation quickly. Frazier Lake is marshy with scrubby vegetation and is surrounded by a rough canyon that blocks the view.

It was just 2 p.m. when I came across the trail junction. On one side: a short hike to Six Mile Meadow, on the other: several thousand feet of climbing. Two women, with two chihuahuas and a very large furry dog, stood there looking shell shocked. They were exhausted from their descent of Polaris Pass and a difficult night spent on the mountain; they said the trail seemed to be sliding off the hill beneath their feet. They did tell me that the far side was a much mellower trail and there would be other hikers camped at Aneroid Lake. I still had energy and liked the idea of seeing new country so I started up the pass.

Further up I encountered three men descending who told me the trail was fine and cheerily encouraged me. I also ran into my camp-mate from the first night at Ice Lake. Knowing I hiked the Matterhorn, he thought I’d be fine on the upper sections of the pass. It was one of those wonderful chance encounters in nature. He was the last person I would see before hitting Aneroid Lake.

Polaris was not physically difficult for me, the two dozen switchbacks kept the trail mellow. But the upper section is deteriorating. There’s no vegetation, several of the turns have eroded to loose dust, and careful foot placement is required to keep

Ice Falls from the Ice Lake Trail. Photo by Claire Tenscher.

the shale from sliding. For the last quarter mile I fell into a deep fear, panic gripping me each time I had to cross a narrow section of trail. Maybe the combination of a long day and the setting sun put me ill at ease and set my imagination loose, or maybe it is truly dangerous. After quickly topping the pass, I spent most of the descent anxious about what might have gone wrong.

I had miles to go after Polaris to reach the comfort of other people. The backside of Aneroid is drier and has fewer stands of trees, and no water until just before the lake. A small second pass, called Tenderfoot, leads into a broad vista of high alpine scrub and the plain beyond the town of Joseph. My mental exhaustion couldn’t prevent me from taking a short detour to look down on the petite Jewett lake.

Arriving at Aneroid Lake as the sun set, I camped next to a chatty pair of hikers on the first evening of their trip. Steep hillsides around Aneroid limit views there, too and bring an early nightfall. I took my customary swim before eating as much as I could fit in my stomach. It was a 21.3-mile day with 4,500 feet gained and 4,100 descended. I was physically fine but mentally tired, and it took me a very long time to fall asleep.

I believe it’s common for backpackers to follow this loop, but if I did it again, I would skip the East fork entirely and spend an extra day doing side trips in the Lake Basin. I liked the views from the Matterhorn better than Polaris, and the Aneroid side wasn’t as much to my taste as the Lake Basin.

Rain threatened when I woke in the early morning, so I quickly packed and headed out. It’s an easy descent, again dusty from heavy horse use. I passed a few folks headed up for day hikes. Arriving back at the parking lot around 9 a.m., I changed into flip flops and shorts and headed into Joseph for a quick breakfast before heading home.